Second Shot
by Sila Ninque
Summary: This is a requested piece, a redo of the end of Sniper Zero. Don knew that Terry put her life on the line every day for him, but he never thought she might actually lose it.
1. Chapter 1

HEY ALL! This is a re-do of the end of Sniper Zero, per request of Stephanie519, one of my faithful reviewers for NSF. I am not sure of all the details, as my tape was tragically eaten by my century-old VCR. So I know there are probably several mistakes in the first little third-person section, but if you would like to correct me, remember that it's not my fault--so please be _nice_ about it…

**Disclaimer: Still don't own the show or its characters or even really the plotline, as it is half borrowed from them anyways. I'm making no money or profit in any way but for the wonderfully warm and fuzzy feelings I get from my awesome reviews and the knowledge that lots of people are reading this…**

**Chapter 1**

_Down on the street, a car door opens, and a curly-haired young man steps out. He glances around, looking confused at the lack of goings-on around him. Slowly, carefully, I catch him in my crosshairs and focus on him. My breathing slows to a gentle pattern, slow and steady. My finger tightens around the trigger, and a moment later, the familiar CRACK and sharp recoil makes my blood rush wildly. LORD, I love that feeling._

_My adrenaline rush dies on the spot as the tall, dark-skinned agent plows my target over. The window of the cruiser behind them shatters, but both are apparently unharmed. Dammit._

_They know where I am now. I'm done for. _

_Shouts--frenzied, hectic--reach my ears, and I swing my weapon toward them. If I'm going to go down, someone's coming with me. The dark haired lead agent is well-concealed behind the row of cars, but his blonde friend is less careful. Shots are flying all around me, but I pay no heed. That's what I learned in the military, you know…never let anything distract you from your mission. I take careful aim and, once again, my finger tightens around the trigger and another deafening bang echoes through the empty streets. A smirk of satisfaction pulls at my lips as she crumples to the ground with a scream. Unfortunately, my little one-man party doesn't last as long as I would've liked. Now that they've got a sure location, it's a matter of seconds before another round of shots rings and…that's it._

"Charlie! Charlie, get down!" Don's feet were flying, but he knew that he didn't have a prayer to save his little brother. Fortunately, David was close enough to throw himself at the startled mathematician and flatten him to the ground milliseconds before the window of the police car behind them exploded, showering the pair of them with glass.

David immediately rolled off his friend, "Are you okay?"

Charlie sat up, dazed but uninjured. "I'm fine." He replied, nodding to reassure the concerned young agent. "Thank you." He managed to stammer.

"Hey, it's no problem." David replied, motioning for Charlie to stay down. "Wait here, don't move."

Suddenly, a second shot shattered the stillness of the hazy LA afternoon, and, a heartbeat later, a strangled cry followed. Don, who had been making his way to his little brother, spun as Terry collapsed.

"No!" The word had left his mouth before he knew he was speaking. The widening pool of crimson around his partner's still form told him that the shot had hit its mark.

He was moving then, racing to cradle her gently in his arms, forcing himself to assess the damage. The wound was a little too low and a little too far to the left to be called a shoulder wound, though his shock-and-terror numbed mind refused to allow it to be called anything else. Her skin was already ghastly pale, making the delicate blue veins at her temples and in her closed eyelids stand out.

"Terry? Terry, please open your eyes." He commanded softly, his fingers prodding the back of her shoulder gently to find…yes, there it was. An exit wound…the sniper had gotten off a through-and-through shot. There was no response from his colleague but for the tentative rise and fall of her chest.

He gritted his teeth and blinked back tears as David materialized at his elbow. "Don, we should lay her out. She'll breathe easier."

He nodded, "Him?" He asked, nodding over his shoulder at the building beside them, barely sparing David a glance.

"Dead." David growled. "Too good for the sleazy son-of-a--"

Don glanced at him from the corner of one dark eye, almost amused, as he hurriedly struggled out of his jacket while holding his partner as gently as possible with his free hand, and David stopped mid-sentence. "Just my opinion." he knelt, gently taking Terry from Don's hands to allow his companion to finish removing his blazer. "Someone's already called 911, they're on the way."

"Good." Don nodded and tossed the jacket to the pavement. "Can I use your coat?"

David nodded without hesitation and tenderly laid Terry on the ground so he could remove it. Don gently placed David's wadded-up jacket beneath her head, then pressed his own to the wound in her chest, trying to stanch the blood flow.

_That_ woke her up. Her eyes snapped open and she tried to wrench out of his reach, but David held her fast. "Shh, Terry, it's okay. Hold still."

Though she obeyed him, frightened dark eyes flitted from one form to the other, blinking kittenishly at the growing crowd. Don continued to apply pressure to her wound with his right hand while he smoothed some blonde strands back from her face with his left. "It's going to be okay. We're here. Just stay awake. Can you talk to me, Terry?"

She tried, opening her mouth and trying to force sound through it. "Yes."

"Good girl. You're going to be fine."

"P-promise?" She stammered, laboriously drawing another breath.

"Promise, Terry. Just stay awake, okay? Don't close your eyes."

"'Kay." she whispered. Her eyes drifted back closed, but she fought them open again. David took her hand, offering a silent lifeline for her to cling to.

Just when they thought she was going to make it, her eyes began to drift closed again. Trying to rouse her without causing any more damage, he shook her gently. "Come on, Terry."

Her eyes flitted open dazedly. "Right." She muttered, squeezing David's hand. "I'm cold."

"We're going to get you to a hospital. But you _have_ to stay with us. You can't sleep yet."

She nodded slowly, forcing some more air into her lungs. It was getting more difficult. Why was it so _cold_? She didn't like the cold. When she closed her eyes and let herself relax, it got a lot warmer and more comfortable. There wasn't any pain there. She knew that, if she wanted to, she could just stay where it was warm and safe. That would be nice, but Don wasn't there. She didn't want to go anywhere where he wasn't.

"Theresa, open your eyes." There he was_ again_. If he would just let her think, she could make a decision.

Sighing (or trying to), she did as she was told. This time, though, there was the sound of screaming ambulances accompanying everything else. As she watched them draw to the curb and paramedics jump out, she came to a frightening realization.

"I can't--can't feel my arm." She told Don, gritting her teeth against the pain.

He attempted an smile of reassurance. He fooled no one, however. "It's going to be okay, Terry."

"Stay with me." She pleaded as a medic pressed an oxygen mask over her face. Suddenly, it was easier to breathe, she noticed. But the cold was seeping back over her. She tried to tell them so, but it took too much effort. This time, she let her eyes drift closed.

Don gazed down fearfully at his colleague and friend as a ponytailed young girl pressed an oxygen mask over her face. "Someone take this woman's blood pressure, please!" She called to the scurrying people behind her. "Are you family?" She asked Don.

"No, but I'm listed as her emergency contact." He replied, knowing this information was true. Terry had told him so just a week before.

She scrutinized him as several more white-coated medics pulled up a gurney beside her. "Okay, sir. You can come with us. Just stay out of the way."

Don nodded, releasing Terry's already-cool hand and stepping aside as they lifted her onto the gurney, leaving behind an ominous-looking pool of scarlet and two blood-ridden jackets. His stomach sank…there was so much of it. It wasn't even possible to have that much blood in a body, was it? No, not just any body. _Terry's_ body. That was Terry's lifeblood shining in the early springtime sun, seeping darkly into the concrete. He let out a shuddering sigh and followed the busy paramedics to the ambulance.

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Well, there you have it….the first short and angsty chapter. It's kind of an intro…I'm thinking there's going to be about four, possibly five, more chapters…they will all be far shorter than those of NSF, as I've got much less time on my hands. Darn school.

Well, thanks for reading…take care everyone,

_Sila_


	2. Chapter 2

Hello again, everyone! So sorry for the long wait. College life gets in the way sometimes. Life period gets in the way sometimes. But I'm back. As I've said (I don't know how many times before) there will be one more update at the end of this month, then I'll take a month-long break to participate in NaNoWriMo. Wish me luck, maybe I'll actually finish this year!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Numb3rs or any of its affiliated parts. The genius of many hardworking people have gone into it, and I'm not attempting to steal any of their glory--nor am I making any money from this. I have no money anyway. Just a bag of Oreos.

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The waiting room of the hospital was exactly twelve feet by thirty-five feet, and getting smaller all the time. At least, Don thought it was. He counted as he paced, making sure the walls weren't doing what it felt like they were and closing in on him. No, the room's dimensions hadn't changed.

"Donny, sit _down_." Alan commanded his oldest son. They--Don; David; Alan; Charlie; Terry's parents and sister, nephew, and brother-in-law; and, surprisingly, Terry's ex-husband Rob--had been in the waiting room for nearly eight hours already. Terry's nine-month-old nephew was growing fussy, so Lara, Terry's older sister, had taken him to a smaller, more private room to try to put him to sleep.

Charlie had already gone to sleep, the emotional stress of the day getting to him. He was slumped in a chair, a folder in his right hand, his chin resting on his chest as he snored softly. Don smiled affectionately at his little brother. "His neck is going to kill him when he wakes up." He told his father matter-of-factly.

A white-coated doctor chose that moment to make his entrance. He stood in the doorway and cleared his throat, effectively catching the attention of the room. Every head turned his way and every ear tuned immediately to him. He nodded to each of them in turn, then gestured to an empty chair. "Take a seat, Agent Eppes."

"Do you have any news on Terry?" He asked, ignoring the command for the second time.

"I do." The doctor nodded solemnly. He paused for a few moments, as though gathering his thoughts, before continuing. "And I'm afraid it's not pleasant."

"She didn't…die, did she?" Terry's mother gasped, her shaking hand rising to cover her mouth.

"No. As of right now, she is in critical but stable condition. She lost a _lot_ of blood. It's amazing she survived the trip here, let alone the surgery. Nothing short of a miracle." The doctor shook his head, as though he couldn't quite wrap his mind around Terry's impossible luck.

"So…the bad news?" Rob prodded, and Don resisted the urge to glare at the man. After all, he, too, was here out of concern for Terry's well-being. At any rate, that had _better_ be the reason the man was showing his face.

"I'm afraid she's probably going to lose all use of her right arm, at least for a long period of time. Her entire right shoulder is a mess. She's got a very long and difficult recovery ahead of her. If she makes it through tonight, I'd give her a seventy-five percent chance of survival. However, whether or not she'll ever be ready to work on the field again, I can't say."

Don's chin set. Was that all this man thought Terry was to him? An agent; someone whose only value was what she could contribute to the job? Well, he had news for him--but the doctor was already speaking again.

"I'm afraid visiting is really out of the question, at least for tonight, anyway. She won't wake anyway. My recommendation to all of you is to go home, get some sleep. Come back in the morning. I'll call you the moment anything changes." He offered a hand to Mrs. Lake, who took it in her own shaking one and pulled herself to her feet. She helped her husband to his feet, Alan poked Charlie gently to awaken him, and Don pulled the doctor aside for a moment.

"What are her odds, right now?" He asked quietly, making sure that none of the others in the room could hear him. "I need to know." He continued as the doctor shook his head, indicating that he couldn't say. "Terry's more than my colleague. She--she's my friend, Doctor. Please."

The silvery-headed doctor sighed. "Right now, they're less than favorable, Agent. I'm sorry that you have to hear this so bluntly, but there's not much hope of her making it through the night. And even if she does, she's not going to be the same girl you knew. As I said, she'll not be herself, physically or emotionally, for a very long time."

"Is there anything else you can do for her?"

"Pray. I'd recommend you do the same." The doctor placed a heavy hand on Don's shoulder. "Go home, Agent. There's nothing more you can do here tonight."

Don nodded as though he were listening, but another plan was forming in the back of his mind. He wasn't done for the night. He waited until the doctor had walked away, back to the bowels of some other part of the hospital, before going to his father, "You and Charlie go ahead home. I've got something to take care of, but I'll stop by for a bit later tonight, okay?"

Alan nodded, gently grasping Charlie's arm. "Come on, Charlie."

"Just a minute, Dad. You head on out to the car. I need to talk to Don for a minute, okay?"

Alan shrugged. "Fine, you boys go do your top-secret Agent stuff. I'll be in the car. And Donny…" He placed both hands on his son's shoulders and pulled him in for a quick hug.

"Yes, Dad?" Don asked when his father finally pulled away.

"Never mind. I'll see you in a while." With that, Alan headed for the doors, which he opened for Mrs. Lake and her family to step through. "Don't be too long, Charlie." He warned softly, with a final glance for both his sons.

Charlie waited until they were both alone before speaking, "Look, Don. About what happened today…I'm so sorry. If I had had the sense to wait a little longer…or come earlier, or call, or--"

"Charlie. It's okay. It wasn't your fault. Problems arise every day on the field. Terry is a trained, competent agent. She knows what she's doing…she just slipped up. It happens." Don caught his brother's elbow gently and squeezed to reassure him. "She was worried about you. So was I. I know you feel bad, but remember that none of this is your fault. It happens." After a quick, awkward hug, he released his younger brother completely, "Now go on home. I'll be there in a bit."

"Okay." Charlie gave him an uncomfortable, shy smile before making his way out the doors. Don watched him go, then turned to make his own way out of the waiting room and down a long, empty hall. He met no one along the way, no one appeared, and it seemed almost as though something were lighting his path, making sure he arrived at his destination.

He did so without interruption. He didn't know how he knew which door to push open and which bed was hers, but somehow, he was at the edge of her bed, gazing down at her. Were it not for the bandages that enveloped all of her right arm and the sling that held it in place, the tubes running into her nose to provide air and the ones that brought a morphine drip and IV from overhead bags, and the shocking paleness of her skin, she would have looked no different from any other time he'd ever laid eyes on her. Some thoughtful nurse had even pulled her freshly-washed hair back into two French braids, pinning it neatly out of her face and framing it prettily.

"Oh, Terry…" He whispered, running a finger down the side of her face. "I'm so sorry this had to happen to you. I'm so sorry that I couldn't be there to stop it. I'm so, so sorry…for everything."

Of course, she made no response. Not even a twitch to imply that she'd heard him. Nothing but the steady rise and fall of her chest and the _bleep-bleep-bleep _of the monitor recording her heart rate implied that she was even alive. He lifted her left hand to his lips, pressed a gentle kiss on its back, and left before his good luck ran out and he was caught here.

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The streets of Los Angeles were surprisingly crowded for 11:30 at night, especially considering how empty they'd been for the last few weeks. News of the sniper's takedown must have traveled fast, Don mused. Odd how everyone was celebrating; _he_ sure didn't feel like partying. He drove through the throng carefully, narrowly avoiding, on several occasions, laughing drunks who stumbled into the streets in front of him either to collapse on the pavement or to empty their bodies of the massive amounts of alcohol they'd consumed. He merely shook his head and waited until the drunk or its friends managed to get it out of the way.

Don randomly punched buttons on the radio, surfing for a station, though he didn't know what he was looking for. With a resigned sigh, he flipped the machine off, listening instead to the silence that filled his car. As he drew up to a red light, he dropped his head into his hands, trying to massage away the impending migraine. But as soon as he let his eyes close, he saw red…crimson pools of blood, Terry's blood, spilling onto the hot Los Angeles pavement as he held her cradled so gently in his arms. He felt again the powerlessness to save her, the knowledge that she was dying and there wasn't anything he could do…

_BEEEP!_ The insufferable blare of a semi truck's horn made the exhausted agent's nerves nearly snap once more. He glanced up and noticed that the light had turned green while he'd been reminiscing, and he eased through the intersection, trying to force the swirling memories to drain away enough for him to focus on the drive back to Charlie's house.

Twelve minutes later, Don stopped for gasoline at a small 24-hour station. As he made his way inside, cash in hand, the droning television in the corner caught his attention, "…this afternoon." An aging reporter in a cheap three-piece suite for Channel 4 News was saying, all smiles. "The suspect, whose name is not being released at this time, was apparently killed at the scene. Agent **John** Merrick, head of the Federal Bureau of Investigation in our city, is here with me tonight. Tell us, agent, what are your feelings on this night?"

"I cannot begin to express my relief. This case has been especially disturbing and difficult. Many of our best agents have been working around the clock to get to the bottom of this. Consultants, assistants, supervisors, field operatives…everyone's lent such a hand."

"What about the young agent caught in the line of fire this afternoon? Any word on her condition? What happened to her?"

"No news on Agent Lake is being released at the present time. All I'll say right now is that we are all very proud of the bravery of her and all of her fellow agents this afternoon." And that was it. As soon as the discussion of Terry's bravery began, it was over. Don felt his heart constrict at the cruelty of it all. He plunked the money down on the counter, received his change, and ducked back out, headed for the safety of home.

He was surprised to notice when he pulled into the driveway that all the lights in the house were still on. Sighing, he exited the car and made his way into the house, feeling as though he'd aged ten years in the last twelve hours. Opening the door to see Charlie, Amita, and Alan seated around the living room, he offered them a weak smile. "Hey."

"Hey, Donny. How's she looking?" Alan asked softly.

Don's eyes widened, but his father only smiled knowingly. "You think I don't know what it was you had to take care of?"

After a moment of stunned silence, Don shrugged. "She looked strange, hooked up to all those machines. Vulnerable. Tiny. Weak. Very…not Terry." He said, sinking into a chair. "It was like I didn't even know her."

Amita offered him a small smile. "She's still Terry. She'll pull through. She's tough."

Don wished he could believe her, but the doctor's words kept ringing through his mind, "..there's not much hope of her making it through the night." And after seeing her lying, so still, on that bed, he was inclined to believe it. The whole situation looked so hopeless.

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And the next angsty segment is complete. Short, but complete. I love this story, but right now there's just not that much going on. Next chapter is going to be much longer, so you'll at least have that to look forward to. Thanks so much for all your support, everyone!

I'm planning on updating this at the end of this month, one more time, and then there'll be a one-month-long hiatus so I can work on my NaNoWriMo novel. Wish me luck, maybe I'll actually win this year!

Thanks to everyone who reviewed!

Review replies, after this, will be posted on my LiveJournal (www. livejournal. com / users / silaninque) Minus the spaces, of course. All reviews left here will be answered individually there…since I just learned last week that we're not really supposed to do individual replies here.

So…final review replies for 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This chapter is really the reason updates have taken so long. I hate these kinds of chapters in stories; feel free to skip over it. I'm not so good at dramatic effect, but there has to be a transition period between the actual accident and whatever comes next, so here's the transition. I tried to write this stupid thing five or six times, and then I gave up and just pulled a one-shot copout. -Shrugs- I was fed up.

Disclaimer: Nope. Still don't own it. I'm tired of saying that.

_Second Shot_

_III_

Terry Lake hated hospitals. She'd hated them ever since she'd had to visit her dying grandmother in one at the age of eight. Ever since that day, she stayed away from them to the best of her abilities, which she considered to be pretty good, thankyouverymuch.

Of all the things she remembered about the night she'd spent at Grandma's bedside, the stink was the most memorable. Terry _really_ hated hospital smells. She really did. The smell of illness, the sterilized smell of floor polish and wax, and the implacable stench of death…all of them sent her back through memories she'd rather have erased.

That smell was what first brought her back to her senses. The blinding pain wasn't far behind, though. An explosive feeling in the right side of her body told her that she was probably still alive. Unless this place was someone's _very_ cruel idea of hell.

She forced her eyes open, taking in the pockmarked look of the ceiling tiles above her. Drawing in a deep experimental breath, she winced. Oh, yeah, she was definitely still alive.

"Good morning, Sunshine." A matronly nurse shoved her pudgy, sweet face into Terry's line of vision. "Nice to see you awake. Would you like anything?"

After a moment's hesitation, Terry shook her blonde head, slowly, carefully, as though afraid of the consequences.

"Okay, sweets. We'll put you back to sleep then." And, with that, the nurse hailed a doctor from the hall. Within minutes, a fresh round of powerful drugs was coursing through her system. Despite her dislike of hospitals, she found that the relief from pain was something she could definitely live with.

By the time she awoke again, there was no sunshine. Well, maybe there was…she just couldn't see it for the thick layer of weeping clouds. She heaved a slight sigh.

"Hey, there." The words were soft and welcoming. "Nice to see you, Lake."

"David?" She mumbled. Her throat was dry, her head hurt, and there was nothing like waking up in a sterilized bed to throw and already unhappy mood to rock bottom.

"Yeah, it's me. Can I get you anything?" He asked softly.

"Water?" She croaked out, knowing she must look like one of those stupid horror-movie patients.

"Of course." He rose immediately and crossed the tiled floor to a refrigerator by the door. He opened the little door, pulled out a bottle of water, and emptied the contents into a cup. Returning to her bedside with a cellophane-wrapped straw, he opened the little package, dropped the straw into the cup, and bent it so it was near her lips. He held the cup carefully in his right hand, his left cupped the back of her head, lifting it tenderly from the pillow and holding it upright so the water would flow smoothly down her throat.

When she gave him a nod, indicating she'd had her fill, he lowered her back to the pillow, set the cup aside, and sat down next to her. "How are you feeling?"

A sarcastic retort formed on her tongue, which was feeling much better now that it didn't have to try to talk around what had felt like a mouthful of cotton balls, but the sincerity and warmth in her colleague's eyes stopped her. "I'm better." She replied instead, thinking back to that fuzzy day right after the incident. The pain was definitely less this time around.

"Great." David said, a smile spreading across his face. He opened his mouth to continue, but the door cracked open, emitting Dr. Mikels, who was carrying a tray of food.

"I brought you some—Agent, you're awake!" He said, nearly dropping the tray in his shock. He opted, instead, to set it on the counter next to the door and hurry to her. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." She replied.

Certain that Terry was in good hands, David excused himself to make some phone calls, and she resigned herself to the examination that Dr Mikels promised would be "pain-free."

He poked and prodded her for nearly an hour before stepping back. "Move your right arm for me."

Her response was a death glare, but he was unfazed, standing at the counter and gazing evenly at her.

"Whenever you're ready, Agent." He said firmly, but her glare only deepened.

He sighed. "We have to see how extensive the damage is. Please try. Roll your shoulder first. That won't be as bad."

Heaving a silent sigh, she braced herself and did as he asked. "Damn it!" She cursed reflexively.

"Okay, that's not quite the response I was hoping for. I don't think we'll try your arm today." He said bracingly.

She gave him the best glare she could muster under the circumstances and tried to force her lungs to breathe shallowly and evenly, hoping to relieve the blinding pressure she still felt on her chest.

"Okay, I've got enough information for now. You can relax…get some more sleep."

"Charlie?" She whispered, remembering the shot that had sent her running into the fray. She couldn't remember anything after the second shot, the one that had landed her here, and she couldn't remember if Charlie had been okay.

"Everyone on your team came through just fine. You're a tough group. Go to sleep now." He commanded.

She didn't want to. She wanted to see Don; she wouldn't be able to sleep until she did. She tried to tell Dr. Mikels so, but it was too much effort to talk. Maybe if she just closed her eyes, just for a second, she'd be well-rested when Don got there. She hoped so. With that thought in mind, she let her eyes slide closed.

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Don sat in a gaudy flowered chair next to his colleague's bed in the ICU and tried to read a book, but the words blurred together and ran off until he couldn't read them. He'd been there for almost eighteen hours, but she'd fallen asleep before he'd arrived and she hadn't woken again.

He flipped through the channels on the TV next, but not even the ballgame could hold his interest. He sighed again and settled back to gaze out the window at the driving rain. Nothing could make him concentrate on anything but her.

It was a miracle that she'd woken so soon. The doctor had called it unexplainable, and he'd told Don that if her recovery continued to go so well, not only would she live, they might be able to restore use to her right arm. As it was, there was little chance she'd ever have complete control of it again.

He knew that that news would crush her. Terry loved her job, and without use of her gun arm, she wouldn't be able to work in the field anymore.

He pushed that thought out of his mind. Right now, he just wanted to know that she'd live.

"Wake up, Terry." He commanded softly. He studied her face in the florescent lighting. She was so pale, though much more color had returned to her cheeks now. Just under two weeks (eleven days, to be precise) had passed since that day, and Don was grateful that everything had gone so well, despite what uncertainty lay in front of them.

Seeing that his words had been to no effect, he settled back into the chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and resigned himself to waiting again. With another sigh, he picked up the remote and aimed it at the TV. Before he could turn it on, though, a gentle sigh from Terry's still form drew his attention. As he watched, breath held, she stirred and slowly opened her eyes again, blinking at the ceiling before sliding to him.

"Hi, Terry." He said softly, reaching to catch her left hand in his.

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So there you have it. As I said, I'm not so good at this kind of thing. My apologies. :-P

Next update: Next Friday. Once a week, as per my finally-put-into-motion New Year's Resolutions.

So, on that happy note, I'll leave you with a quick little preview:

_Second Shot IV:_

"_Terry, we need to talk." _

_She glanced up, her dark eyes expectant, "Sure. What's up?"_

_He sank into the chair next to her bed, and she closed the book clumsily with her left hand and set it aside._

"_The doctors…" He began, then trailed off. No, that sounded stupid. How was he going to break this to her! "Terry, your…there's a problem with your shoulder."_

"_I'm aware of that, Don. That's kind of why I'm here." She said, studying him. "What's going on?"_

"_No, I mean there's really a problem. It's not healing right." He said gently. _

I know, sucky little preview, but you got a good one for LMLMN. I can't give everything away. That would ruin all my fun.

See you Friday!

All my love,

Sila


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